


Fault Line

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Basement, Bonding, Boys Kissing, Caring, Close Quarters, Confusion, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drugged Spencer Reid, Drugged Stiles Stilinski, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, First Kiss, Grinding, Hurt Spencer Reid, Kidnapped Spencer Reid, Kidnapped Stiles Stilinski, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partners to Lovers, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Protectiveness, Revelations, Rutting, Sarcasm, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Slow Romance, Some Humor, Some Tags and Characters May Be for Future Chapters, Stiles Stilinski is Not Amused, Stiles Stilinski works for the BAU, Stiles being Stiles and Reid being Reid, Tags May Change, Talking, kidnapped together, rating is for future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25879537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: There were a lot of questions plaguing Stiles when he awoke cold and confused in a dim basement. After a quick survey of his surroundings, confirming he'd be taken from his home, the query that burned brightest in his mind was this: why was Spencer Reid in bed with him?
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Stiles Stilinski, Spencer Reid/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 13
Kudos: 164





	1. Sleep... walking

_You and I will never change_  
 _But we're holding on until we feel it break_  
 _It's too late to be the first to walk away_  
 _When we're lovers on a fault line  
_ __  
_  
_ _

Stiles’ lips felt parched. It was the first thing he noticed before his eyes fluttered open to the vision of pipes running across the ceiling. What the…?!  
 _I’m not at home.  
_ Working out instantly that he wasn’t in his bed, a tendril of panic seized him, tensing his limbs. He blinked, squinting to regain focus.  
Okay, it was dim. The room was chilly, prickling his exposed skin. His hand stole down his stomach, to his legs, and the fabric, soft against his palm, felt like his familiar bedclothes. _  
I’m in a basement and I was taken from my apartment.  
_  
Stiles tried to raise his head next, but then the room spun and with a groan he let it fall back onto the pillow. His entire body felt heavy. His chest went tight and his heart beat with an uneasy, irregular rhythm.  
That’s when the shadow next to him shifted, making him lurch.  
  
Shit, he thought, and forced himself to roll over onto an elbow. That was the dark spot he’d seen earlier, swimming out of the corner of his eye. A dull throbbing shot through his shoulder when he landed on it, a hiss escaping his mouth. Lifting two fingers to the pain point, a slide of his t-shirt revealed a swollen puncture mark.  
 _We’ve been drugged._  
That would explain why he was so dizzy and why his vision was so fuzzy. He set his face in deep thought, trying to breath away the fear twisting up his guts. The more Stiles went back in time, the less he could remember. Nothing past eating Chinese takeout directly out of the box. He’d been halfway through a rerun of ‘Supernatural’ and then it all went black.  
  
“Hey,” Stiles sibilated. “Hey!” he said a little louder.  
The man – whoever he was – had his back turned to Stiles, his side of the blanket pulled up almost to his chin.  
No wonder Stiles had been cold, he thought. This guy was hogging the only blanket!  
  
Wanting to peel it back to reveal more, Stiles found he needed to get closer. From here, the only thing he could make out was the stranger’s longer hair, which was tousled. Stiles thrust himself forward, straining to make out who it was. There was something familiar about him, but in the semi-darkness like this, he couldn’t be sure.  
  
“Mmm,” an arm lifted and the figure flipped, slumping into the bed. His profile came into view and Stiles saw him for the first time with abrupt clarity. His slow crawl of outstretched fingers stopped before reaching him.  
 _Spencer.  
_ Stiles was trapped in a room in a basement with _Spencer Reid.  
_  
_  
Reid transferred his gaze to him, looking as confused as Stiles was a second ago. Eyes wide open, moving in their sockets left and right, he grunted lowly. He felt like a train had hit him. It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.  
“St… Stiles?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Stiles whispered, unsure if they were being watched.  
“What’s going on? Why are we laying down together?” Rubbing the glaze from his eyes with his knuckles, Spencer leaned back and folded up his legs.  
“We’ve been kidnapped, Reid.”  
  
Feeling like his senses were steadying, Stiles hung his feet over the edge of the metal springs, testing his balance.   
“What?” Spencer mumbled, the realization sinking in. His mind whirled in a tumble of fragmented bewilderment. “My arm kinda hurts…”  
He stroked it, giving a squeeze to the bicep as he inched his way upright.  
  
Stiles nodded.“Yeah, mine too. We were also drugged. I have a similar puncture mark.”  
“Okay, so that rules out trilamide,” Reid mumbled, smacking his lips together.   
  
“ _Probably moderate sedation_ ,” they said in unison, and Stiles rolled his eyes. Of all the people to get kidnapped with!   
  
He risked standing up, and when Stiles didn’t fall over, it compelled him to move around. He pulled on the dirty string hanging from the ceiling, which turned on the bare bulb in the middle of the room. It seemed to be the only light source.  
“Do you remember anything?” Reid asked, surveying his clothing. He was in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt. Exactly like when he’d gone to bed. And from the looks of Stiles, he had also been taken in the late evening.  
  
“I was having dinner and watching Netflix. I don’t remember anything after that.” It was like Stiles couldn’t keep his hands to himself, his fingers grazing over absolutely every item he found.  
“I was in bed reading," Reid added. "After that, my first memory is of waking up here.”  
  
What little there was, the furniture was mismatched, Stiles noted. A box spring where they’d woken up, on it a mattress covered by a sheet. One worn pillow and one blanket under which Reid was trying to get his bearings.  
“Have you made any enemies lately?” Stiles examined a row of utility shelves bolted to the wall. They were laden with canned foods, preserves, cases of light bulbs, toilet paper, and other bulk household supplies. Neatly stacked packets of ramen and mac and cheese occupied the top shelf. There was also a small cupboard but upon opening it Stiles found it empty.   
  
“I can’t bring to mind anyone in particular. However, given our line of work, I wouldn’t hesitate to wager this is someone the BAU might have triggered. Last year there were 609,275 reported cases of missing persons. And while the reason they went missing can vary, 90% of those cases were children. Factoring in that we’re adults and only 24 percent of all kidnappings are perpetrated by strangers, chances are high that-”  
“Oh my GAWD, Spencer!” Stiles cut him off, rubbing his temples. “A simple ‘it’s possible we’re in the BAU after all’ would have sufficed.”  
  
Spencer extended one leg, then the other, massaging his calves.“I’m in here with you, Stiles. No need to get testy.”  
  
Stiles exhaled so deeply it made him slouch. If the kidnapper wasn’t going to kill them, he just might end up strangling Reid himself!  
  
An encased sink with a tap sided next to a small table caught his attention next. A microwave took up most of the space. Stacked on top: One plate. One bowl. Two plastic forks. Two spoons.  
“Do you see this?” Stiles looked over his shoulder, indicating the wall with his chin. “What kind of kidnapper leaves you with a microwave and all these supplies, but provides only one plate and one bowl?” His tone was grim.  
“One that intends on keeping you sequestered for a long time," Spencer answered bluntly. "And who will force us to share dinnerware.”  
  
Rubbing his chin, he had to agree. “An asshole. Exactly what I was thinking,” Stiles deadpanned.  
_  
  
A few more minutes passed and as Stiles continued to inventory the supplies, Spencer was able to amble out of bed. Though still groggy, he no longer felt like his knees were jello.  
“Do you hear any noise at all?” Reid perked his ears.  
“Maybe water in the pipes? I’ve been training mine for a while and I got nothing else.”  
  
An uncertainty crept into Spencer’s normally pensive expression. It was unsettling, the whole situation. Why would they be taken from their homes and placed together in a sealed room? Who would provide more than adequate resources and accomodation if he wanted them to suffer for something they'd done?  
He began to mentally list all the cases he'd be on since Stiles had joined the BAU. It helped him stay alert, to think about facts and stats. Kept him on task and the emotions at bay.   
“Highly unusual.”  
  
“What’s unusual is I don’t see a toilet,” Stiles quipped. “No bucket, either. No way of disposing of… raw sewage.” More than silence, this was slightly more troubling to him.  
There were two other doors in the space that they hadn’t yet considered. One was steel and triple bolted, and it didn’t take an investigative genius to figure out that it was the one leading to freedom.  
The other was a wooden plank so scratched up it looked like it’d been there since the Kennedy administration.  
  
“Might be this?” Spencer grabbed at the opaque door handle, turning it carefully. It stuck, and it took the both of them pulling on it for it to yawn open with a creak. The wood had expanded for what seemed like months of exposure to moisture.   
  
Inside, 3 bare walls, as aged as the rest of the place, and a toilet, much to Stiles’ relief.  
“Bingo.”  
The last thing he wanted to do was relieve himself into one of the empty paint cans he’d found earlier. A similar, one-bulbed fixture was the only light in the tiny space, but it was working. Stiles flushed the toilet and when it functioned properly, he murmured a "thank God."  
“Well that settles the mystery of where we urinate,” Spencer remarked.  
He walked back over to the shelves when they’d propped the door closed, first washing his hands and then pouring himself a glass of water from the tap. There was also only one plastic cup sitting by the sink, Stiles tallied.

“Uh, that could be poisoned!” Stiles exclaimed when Reid brought it to his lips. 

Spencer halted, bending his head in Stiles’ direction. “Do you not realise how hard it is to poison water that comes from a tap?” it came out with a slight scoff. “It’s not like you’re dropping a few drops of poison into a glass of water. Come on, Dr. Stilinski, don't lose your wits.”

“I hate him,” Stiles mumbled under his breath, tugging on his ear.  
It’s official, he thought. One of us will die in here and then I’ll go to prison for murder.


	2. It's Puzzling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men have been inside the room for three days when they make a discovery.

It had been three days and Stiles hadn’t killed Spencer… yet. There was more than one occasion where he had lost his patience, but instead of lashing out, Stiles had counted to ten and taken deep breaths.

It wasn’t easy. Reid knew exactly how to push his buttons just by being…well… himself. However, fighting with Spencer would do neither of them any good. Not only did they have to share the space, but only one blanket and pillow had been provided and at night the basement grew cold and damp. They weren’t exactly “snuggling” but after the first night of shivering both had agreed that their combined body heat was welcome.  
They had nothing but time, and since there were no windows they attempted to keep it with sensation. It felt like it had been about three days, they’d decided that morning, judging by their sleep patterns and cyclical pangs of hunger.  
Most of it was spent thinking. Stiles was confused by a lot of things, not least of all the lack of any contact from their kidnapper which was driving him mad. (Not that he was disappointed that some weapon-yielding maniac hadn’t yet stumbled in to torture or kill them… but no sign of life whatsoever was just very odd).  
What the hell did he want from them? What was all this about?  
  
“None of this is troubling to you?” Stiles asked as he ripped open a ramen packet. “We’ve got everything we need to survive for quite a while here, so what’s the fucking point? Why are we in here, so he can watch us eat noodles and bathe in the sink?”  
Spencer wasn’t as worried as Stiles. Perhaps he should have been, as there were more than enough people that might have had the opposite of good intentions with him, but he wasn’t as much affected now that he’d reflected on it.   
“I’m not as concerned as you, Stiles. I can’t explain why,” Reid replied as he brushed the hair from his face. He was sitting on the edge of the bed cross-legged, a rational calm coating his voice.  
  
Stiles watched him from the corner of his eye… the way his beautiful hands pulled the strands back behind his ears. Now that he had the occasion to _really_ study him, he couldn’t help but notice how handsome Spencer was. He’d spent so much time at the office avoiding him, he hadn’t ever really “seen” him. Sure, someone like Derek Morgan stood out as unbelievably hot and no one in their right mind could deny that… but Stiles realized he’d never really thought of Spencer that way until now. As having potential... for hotness.  
At least not consciously.  
  
The microwave whirred as Stiles leaned back against the table. “So you’re not afraid at all?”  
“Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re here, too, Stiles. If I were alone, I might be.” Spencer looked up at him from under thick lashes with a slight blush dusking on his cheeks.  
He meant it… Stiles being in the same predicament, physically also very fit and more than capable of defending them both... it made him feel safe.  
  
Stiles was transfixed when he heard that, and it was the ding of the microwave that snapped him out of his reverie. _Was Spencer blushing?!_  
Clearing his throat, Reid shifted on the bed and continued. “It wouldn’t make sense for someone to want to capture us both, unless they really knew us. There haven’t been enough violent criminals that hated us both to that extent. Also something about this space, this whole set up feels a little too 'safe'.”

He had a point, Stiles mused. Dusting the noodles with the spice packet, he twirled some on the fork. “Maybe.”  
Reid didn’t like that furrow in Stiles’ brow. “You’re just making yourself more nervous like this, Stiles. It isn’t likely you will think of something you haven’t already thought of; especially since it’s been days.”

Stiles stood still, looking at him with a wonder etched into his umber eyes. This was the first time Spencer had voiced any concern over him. “I’m anxious by nature. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”  
Spencer noticed that he wasn’t breathing as properly as he should have, but he also knew all too well what it meant to have a panic attack. There was enough to determine that this wasn’t the start of one.  
“I’m just trying to look out for you, Stiles. You are the most likely candidate to defend us in a physical altercation should someone show up,” he grinned. His left hand lightly stroked his thigh.  
A smirk painted Stiles’ lips then. “Oh, I see. So you’re only keeping me fed and calm in case we have to fight?”  
This might have been the first time they had both ever joked with one another. “Sure. That’s the only reason,” Spencer stated, playing along. “Whoever put is in here won’t get any excitement out of watching us unless there’s some kind of task we haven’t found yet. Maybe there’s more to this and we just haven’t discovered it yet. Like some puzzle. It’s all about the thrill for—”

“Shut up,” Stiles interrupted him, not meaning to be rude. He lifted his hand as soon as he put the bowl down by the sink. He had that look… like a light bulb had illuminated a corner of his mind he’d not yet explored. Stiles moved over to the far wall. He stopped in front of the cupboard which he had previously claimed had been empty. Now, however, he knelt down and retrieved something from it. It had been shoved into the back, and Stiles had thought he saw something there when he'd been in bed that morning.  
He held it out to Spencer like a prize.  
“Spencer, this wasn’t here last night. I’m sure of it. That cupboard was empty. I’ve checked every day since we got in here.”  
Stiles held up what resembled a colored box.

“A jigsaw?” Spencer bent his head and rose from the bed, curiosity getting the better of him. Something punctured his chest when his hand grazed Stiles’.  
“You were right, Spencer.”  
This wasn’t any cause for concern either, as it was too literal of a puzzle to get excited over, but the thrill of one of these ‘ _Eureka_ ’-moments had Spencer overwhelmed with a rush of emotion. “You think something might be hiding in the jigsaw puzzle, Stiles?”

Stiles shrugged, shaking the box as if to urge Spencer on more. In response to it, he gave in, taking it in his large hands so Stiles could lift off the cover.  
“It’s the only thing in this room that wasn’t there before. At first glance, at least. Might as well give it a shot, right?”  
Never one to back off from a challenge, Reid nodded. “It isn’t like we’ve got anything better to do here, anyway.”

The box top didn’t really contain any sort of image anymore. It was scraped off, no longer showing them what this puzzle was meant to be. That made it a little more interesting, and more thrilling to get to figure out. Maybe there was a key, or a clue, and one way or another they would be able to piece it together. 

“We should make some space for it,” Spencer said, looking at the amount of pieces it contained. “It doesn’t look like this will form an enormous image but still.”

“Here, let’s put the pieces on the bed,” Stiles suggested.

As Spencer flipped the box, making all the pieces rain down to the mattress, Stiles pushed against the bed so it moved against the wall. Spencer sat down on his knees then, hovering above them. He began flipping them, so the right side was revealed. His mind had already begun working on the image it would depict, but it wasn’t something he immediately recognized. Not a mountainous landscape, nor a cityscape, nor another type of landmark. Until...   
_Ah._ He looked at Stiles, a frown on his face.  
“What is it?” Stiles asked him.

Spencer answered with a hesitant drag to the words. “Stiles, I think you should be the one to puzzle this together. It seems to be what they want.”

—  
Stiles was getting the feeling that Spencer knew a lot more than what he was letting on. It annoyed him to see the look in the other’s eyes and know, somehow, that Spencer already knew what the image of this stupid fucking puzzle was going to look like. He didn’t do them often. In fact, he hadn’t done one in ages, and what was the point, if Spencer already knew what the meaning behind all of this was?!  
However, Reid was just sitting there silently, waiting. What the hell was going on here?

“Are you really not going to help me?” Stiles asked, after throwing yet another piece down onto his unorganized pile. He wasn’t making it easier on himself like that. Stiles was fed up. It looked like Spencer had eaten the canary and so if he just kindly spit out whatever it was he had surmised…  
“Reid, tell me what you know.” Could he at least take the liberty to be petty and inefficient? “I’m going to slam pieces into one another until they fit together in not too long, I swear to God.”

Spencer sighed, wagged his dark head and then squeezed the edge of the mattress in his long fingers. “I think it’s for the best I not say anything.”

“Are you shitting me right now?! Not even a hint?!" Stiles' tone was pitchy and laced with annoyance. "Are you seriously just going to make me do all the work here out of some sick pleasure…. “

Spencer got up then, forcing Stiles to stop talking. Just a moment later, the door to their tiny bathroom opened and closed. Inside of it, Stiles could hear some rummaging, and then something like a kick, finished off by an all but promising grunt. Had Stiles been in any other predicament, he likely would have laughed at the lack of tact, especially from Spencer, who was usually so composed, and so controlled when it came down to his calculated deductions. He was not normally the type to go banging against walls to find— what?— garbage or air chutes?

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked him, after which he saw Spencer exit. His partner looked frustrated, but perhaps there was a little more to that look than Stiles could now decipher.  
“Weren’t you the one who implied that trying stuff like that is useless? There’s clearly no way out of here, and we just have to play by the rules they’re going to set out for us.”

Spencer glanced in his direction and ran his hand through his waves. He didn’t really look panicked, but perhaps flustered instead. The emotion rubbed off on Stiles, who was still busy getting no closer to the end of the jigsaw. Finding those corners was driving him up the wall, and all he had was a part of the upper side of the picture. A blue sky, nothing special. If only Spencer would fucking help him, they would be done with this in no time… 

_Wait._ “You’re stalling,” Stiles deduced. “You don’t want to help me, because…”

Stiles had half expected Spencer to interrupt him, but he hadn’t. Instead, he stared at Stiles with a daring look on his face, as if to say: _well? Go on, then. Show me what you’ve got._

“Fine. I’ll bite Reid. I think this picture has something to do with you. It’s something personal that you don’t want me to know about.”  
That is when Spencer deflated, and he couldn’t deny the truth behind Stiles’ statement. That made him feel almost triumphant. It didn’t happen often that Stiles was _this_ quick to figure something out that Spencer didn’t want him to know. 

“You’re right.” He sat back down on the bed and sank backwards, taking a deep breath.

Stiles had never seen the other man seem _so_ frustrated before, and it was almost enough to make him uneasy. “You _really_ don’t want me to find out what’s on here, do you?”

Spencer remained stoic, but there was a slight twitch to his features. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t know, but…” He shook his head, blinking profusely. “I know that the quickest way out is simply to help you, just so we can get back to our lives, and forget this ever happened.”

“So, you are really ruling out any real threat here?”

Spencer nodded, determinedly so. “Like I said, it’s uncommon for us to have landed ourselves in this position. It’s statistically unlikely, even. Nothing I’ve seen around here makes me think this was done by someone who wants to kill us. In fact, it _can’t_ have been done by a total stranger, because the jigsaw…”

“The puzzle has got something about you on it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” Reid spit.

Stiles looked at the partially blue sky he had already puzzled together and frowned. This side — this _nervous_ side — was not one that Stiles had ever seen from Spencer before. It changed something about the situation, but also about the overall atmosphere around them. It made it a lot more uncomfortable suddenly and continuing as if nothing had happened all the harder.  
Still, they both wanted to get out of here, and if solving this enigma was going to get them there… then… Did they have any other choice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays in updates across the board. Thanks for your patience.


	3. The Complete Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer and Stiles come to some very important conclusions- which end in an unexpected display of affection.

“This is a very unpleasant memory for me, Stiles.”

The concerned that marred Reid’s face provoked an unexpected reaction in him. Stiles’ fingers inched forward and down until they lightly brushed Spencer’s. He didn’t realize he’d done it until it was too late, and so with wide eyes he waited for Reid to flinch or move them away. He wouldn’t give him that displeasure by doing so himself…especially since Stiles didn’t mind the contact at all.  
“I’m sorry, Spencer. Why do you think this is happening?”

Spencer surprised Stiles by not having either reflex. Instead, his partner seemed comforted by the touch, and when he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment Stiles swore he felt him shiver. Was it a shiver of disgust or…? Stiles wondered.  
Spencer sighed then, and the heat from Reid’s skin emanated onto his own to the point that Stiles squeezed just a little. The basement might have been cold but Spencer was running inexplicably warm and in turn it was sending blood pounding into Stiles’ brain.  
“Whoever this is, Stiles, they’re hoping this image will provoke some form of understanding between us.”

 _And it seems to be working,_ Spencer mused, reluctantly slipping his hand from out of Stiles’ in order to group the parts together by color. He fiddled with two of them- giving nothing away in his expression then. His gaze merely lifted from straight ahead up to Stiles’ honey-glazed one. He smiled weakly, feeling Stiles’ intense stare all the way to his toes.

_

Spencer couldn’t remember the last time that _this_ had come to the surface. It wasn’t something he discussed, although it wasn’t necessarily a topic he _didn’t_ talk about. It was brought up from time to time, when the subject was relevant, but Spencer didn’t think that _now_ was the right time for it. (Nor did he imagine Stiles the one he would have entrusted with such a painful secret, if he even wanted to label it such at all).  
But given the circumstances, and all that had transpired thus far… why NOT Stiles?!

The picture on the floor was becoming a lot clearer now. Spencer had seated himself next to Stiles as he slowly worked on finding the courage to complete the thing. What made it even more difficult was the heat from his neighbor’s thighs brushing up against his, which felt like a jolt to his heart each time.  
  
“Are you okay, Spencer?” Stiles asked when a couple of minutes had passed without Reid moving.  
Peripheral vision allowed him a pleasant view of Stiles’ hand moving over the fabric of his bottoms, and it was distracting only because he was fully aware of where his thoughts were straying.  
For the first time since he’d met the man, Reid wondered what that hand would feel like on HIS leg, especially if it slid inward and-  
_Return to your senses, Spencer,_ his brain screamed.  
Stiles noticed the increased rise and fall of Reid’s chest and attributed it mistakenly to anxiety. “Do you need help?” he offered.  
  
“No…” Reid cleared his throat, coming back to the moment. He shifted in place just enough for there to be a thumb’s space between them. This was better AND worse, but for sure safer.  
“I got it.”  
The jigsaw was the simple part — Spencer knew exactly what it depicted — but once the whole thing had been fitted together, _the talk_ about what it meant would have to ensue.  
That was the part he dreaded. Spencer didn’t know whether he was ready for it. (And more to the point, was Stiles?)

“It’s starting to look like…” Stiles started. His eyes roved over Spencer, as if he were trying to read the answer in his muted expression as much as in the pieces.  
Spencer tried to give as little away as he could manage. “...like a living room?"

Spencer nodded.  
It hadn’t started as a terrible memory. It’d been a good day at first when this picture was taken, the clear azure sky vast and welcoming, visible from the large window in the living room. Spencer could remember feeling so proud of it, cheerily chanting to himself: _“Yes! This is the one! This is the best one I’ve ever taken!”_  
When the picture had been developed, just a few days later, it turned out that he had been right. It _was_ the best picture he had ever taken. It looked mundane, like nothing was going on, while the truth behind it — and quite literally behind _him_ at the time he had taken it — was so far removed from the everyday.

“It is a living room, yes, Stiles,” Spencer replied with a woeful tone that made Stiles’ eyebrows arch. He shoved some more pieces in his direction, Stiles’ pulse starting to run a little faster now, growing more nervous. Why were they being made to do this? What was the point of it all?  
“I took this picture when I was young.” Because that was an easy start, wasn’t it? It meant nothing. Stiles wouldn’t have a clue where to guess.

“I gathered this was your living room. What happened there, Spencer?”

A lot, Spencer answered in his head. It had been the beginning of the end. He continued his game of giving more and more of the pieces form and watching as Stiles scrunched his nose and scratched his head at the image.  
“I lived there. With my parents. Before…”  
A moment of silence followed. Stiles seemed to know that all the questions had to come from him, because Spencer would not be forthcoming.  
The memories weren’t so fond. Not at all. Especially not from that day, when— Stiles hated to prod but...   
  
A hand closed over Spencer’s shoulder and this time he flinched, but not out of revulsion. He just wasn’t expecting it. “I know this is difficult, Spencer. But I promise to listen. You can tell me. You can tell me _anything_.”  
To Spencer’s surprise, Stiles sounded sincere… and sweet. There was no hint of sass, or scrutiny, or sarcasm. Instead, he just waited quietly, and gave Spencer the time he needed to recollect his thoughts.  
“It’s not that, per se,” he mumbled. “It’s everything about it, really, like the connotations of having to discuss this with you here. I don’t know what they want from me— from us. I don’t know what gave them the right to look through my things and make a puzzle out of it…and worse yet to force me to discuss this event with you.”  
Stiles wasn’t sure what to say to that, because the “with you” suddenly stung so bad, worse than any other time they’d gone at each other verbally. Was it really that bad for them to spend this time together? Was Stiles so unbearable in Spencer’s eyes?!  
  
He stiffened and twitched to move his hand away, when Spencer grabbed it. He looked up at Stiles with tears brimming in his eyes and the man gasped.  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I… I’m really glad you’re here. I just don’t like talking about this AT ALL. With anyone.”  
  
Stiles relaxed, biting into the corner of his mouth. Spencer looked so fucking sad it was tearing at his chest and this was the last thing Stiles had ever expected to feel as they sat on a dirty floor putting together a goddamn puzzle taken straight from one of Spencer’s seemingly most painful childhood memories.  
  
All that soul-searching gave Spencer the opportunity to finish his train of thought. “I think we’ve got no choice but to get to it, Stiles. To learn to understand each other in a way like this. This is what they want,” he sighed. Then he added as an afterthought: “I wonder what they’ve got in store for you. Whatever it is, it will not be pleasant.”

A wag to his auburn head didn’t help to clear his anxiety. “I’ve been worried about that, too,” Stiles admitted, honestly. “I can see the state you’re in, and I can’t imagine you’ll be the only one whoever this is will target. If this is all about the way we understand each other, and the way we work together, then… yeah, I better fucking prepare myself.”

Spencer nodded, and then helped Stiles with the last parts, making the entire picture complete.

—-

As Spencer talked, Stiles listened without interruption, as he’d promised. Studying what was in front of them, staring back at them from the bed, Stiles tried to imagine what the situation must have looked like. Probably not as bright as the sky that day this picture had been taken, Stiles surmised. It made all this a lot more important than it might look at first glance.  
It sounded rather dark, even if Spencer didn’t care to put too much emotion into his words as he spoke them. The flat tone suggested he was removing himself from the story, telling it like something he had once heard, rather than something he had experienced on his own skin.

Stiles imagined what the rest of the house looked like, picturing a standard American ranch in Las Vegas, where he already knew Spencer had grown up. He imagined Spencer’s childhood bedroom, a table with a chessboard in the centre of it. Maybe on most days, Spencer would sit on the floor while violently playing against himself just to beat his own brain and improve. In those moments, Stiles imagined that Spencer’s life must have been quiet, like the life of a normal child — or, well, quite a nerdy child, at least. Shelves covered in books instead of action figures. Science kits and a microscope and puzzle books where balls and skates and baseball cards might have otherwise resided.

What Spencer was now telling him now, though, had little to do with these serene moments. Instead, it came down to what went on behind the scenes, around the dinner table, in his mother’s bedroom, and — of course — in the living room, where Spencer had been sitting when he’d taken the picture now displayed before them like an emblem to pain.

“I’m going to keep it fairly simple,” Spencer said, voice a monotone. “There is no need for details, while all they want is for you to understand why I behave the way I do sometimes. It’s clear that my mother’s condition — _paranoid schizophrenia —_ has something to do with it, which is why I will mention it. And, believe me, I think they have a very good reason for thinking so, as behavioral problems and deficiencies are usually created during childhood, and that it is therefore unlikely for my ‘behavior’ to have stemmed from anything else, but… In my case, I don’t believe that it is.”

Stiles merely cocked his head, hands on his knees. “You keep saying they. Why? Who do you think is behind this?”  
What came out of his mouth next froze Stiles in place.  
“I don’t think we’ve been kidnapped at all. Not conventionally. I think this is all an exercise orchestrated by the BAU.”  
  
Once the words were uttered, the suspicion took life before them. Goddamn him for being right, Stiles thought, but this made the most sense out of all their theories. It had briefly crossed his mind on the first day, but the initial fear and insecurity to the act, and then the absolute invasion of privacy behind the gesture had it been true…it coerced Stiles to put that possibility to rest.  
But now- this? It made sense. Who better to know their secrets? Who else could manipulate setting to get a reaction sought after on paper?  
“I think you’re right, Spencer. I think this is exactly what it is.”  
  
Their fucking colleagues. Or bosses. Whoever… it didn’t matter what faces the guilty held. What mattered now was to play along so they could get out of here and THEN find out why! Having taken death off the table, all of this was easier to manage. Once they’d wrapped their heads around it, they could go into this with greater ease. Anger, of course, but also ease.  
“Let’s do this, then. They’re watching from somewhere we don’t see… let’s do this. The sooner we finish the task, the sooner we get out of here. Finish your story, Spencer. I’m listening.” 

Reid set the reality aside, knowing what Stiles was suggesting was their only real option.  
“Okay. Yeah. So… my mother.” It was at her mention that Spencer’s features softened. His luscious mouth smoothed out and Stiles couldn’t help but notice the warmth creasing the corners of his lips into a faint grin.  
“I have a good relationship with my mother, even despite what happened. Sometimes I think we’re close _because_ of what happened, but— well, I also don’t believe that’s entirely true. We’re close, _because_ we’re close. Our line of work keeps us entertained, wondering why certain things are the way they are — especially when it comes down to behavior — but sometimes things just… they just _are_. Am I making sense? I feel like I’m using ‘are’ a lot.”

A small smile appeared on Stiles’ lips, it was endearing to see Spencer this way. He was usually almost robotic, and here… this display was the most human Stiles had ever seen him. His look of compassion was then quickly eaten by Spencer’s glimpse of sadness and vulnerability.  
Stiles could, for some reason, feel the sear of how this was successfully pulling at his heartstrings, but he tried not to show it. Stiles didn’t want his judgment to get cloudy by the compulsion he was feeling to embrace Reid.  
“When I took this picture, I was so excited,” Spencer began, leaving his disclaimer behind him to get into the actual story. “I couldn’t wait for it to be developed, so I could properly show it off. I’d always thought good things about our house, and I _loved_ living there...” he paused, painfully reminiscing to a quick wince. “... but this day was probably the first time I noticed that something was going wrong. That nothing would ever be the same again.”

“Go on, Spencer,” Stiles encouraged him with a tenderness to his voice that surprised even himself. “I’m here.”

“My mother was on the couch, staring out of the window and supervising me as I experimented with the camera,” he murmured. “When I started bragging about it, like children do, I… I don’t know, I must have held the camera in my hand, and her eyes must have shot towards it and she saw something dangerous in it…”

Stiles listened intently, not interrupting Spencer’s story. He just nodded along with him and let the scenario play out in his head. He saw a junior version of Spencer, face bright with happiness and pride, then taken aback while his mother snatched the device out of his hands and threw it against the wall.  
“It broke apart into what seemed then a hundred pieces,” Spencer looked away, seeing it like a movie in his mind. “Broken plastic, the shattered glass of the lens, everything scattered around the carpet.”  
Stiles couldn’t help but wonder whether either of them had stepped into it later, making wounds.

 _“You can’t send them! You can’t send them out. You can’t let them know…”_ Spencer explained his mother was shouting, and Stiles could imagine a woman with enormous eyes, fear etched into her brow as she screamed at her child. What it must have felt like to slowly fall victim to the faulty wiring of her own mind… and that's what made him gulp. He knew a thing or two about that from his own life.  
Was this why? Was he supposed to gather empathy because of his Mom’s illness?! What a painful thing to recall for the both of us, Stiles thought, as his hands fell to his sides.

 _“Let them know what?”_ I asked, and I was clearly upset, “ Spencer detailed. “I told her _“I won’t show anyone… I won’t…I promise…”_

Spencer hugged his knees, weakened by the sudden quivering of his limbs and the cold stealing into his bones. Stiles’ fingers twitched as he watched Reid finish the tale. How his mother had shaken him, then pressed him close. Young Spencer had been confused, but glad that his mother’s frantic outlash hadn’t meant she was angry with him directly.  
However, something still felt… terribly wrong. Spencer was too smart for his own good, Stiles thought, not to think about his mother’s awfully odd behavior not being normal even then.

“I’d just understood how cameras worked,” Spencer said, making the awful glimpse into the past come to a tragic conclusion. “So, I saved the camera roll. I got it developed secretly with my dad — he was still with us at the time — and I got to see what it looked like. I think, as strange as it is, that this is probably _still_ my favourite picture ever, despite the horrible memory. The house… It was such a good house, for all its own minor reasons. Until that day.”

Stiles looked down at it again, spotting the color of their curtains and how the bright sun enhanced their tint. There were items scattered over the coffee table — a newspaper, a half-full cup of coffee, and a plate with on it a sandwich, one bite taken out (probably Spencer’s, because those bite marks were tiny) — and it just looked so incredibly lively. Like the picture of a family home, (right before its collapse).

Stiles furrowed his brows, then took a deep breath. “Shit,” he muttered. “I really hadn’t expected something so heavy to come out of this. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that.”  
Because what else could he say, without sounding like a heartless asshole?! And Jesus, the way Spencer’s shoulders were slumped and his wiry arms wrapped around himself like that…

Spencer shrugged, watery eyes still fixated on the picture. It was getting harder to see it now, now that the lights were slowly, for whatever reason, dimming.  
“Don’t be sorry that this happened,” he said in earnest. “Be sorry that it was brought up, because… I don’t think it’ll be the last of what we’re going to get.”  
  
That’s when Spencer felt the moist palm on his nape, and he swallowed hard, lifting his chin, boldly meeting Stiles’ fiery gaze. The other looked him full in the eye for a moment, breath caught in his chest.  
“Stiles-”

His other hand cupped Spencer’s cheek, and before Stiles could stop himself, not that he wanted to stop himself, he leaned lightly into him, tilting his face towards his.  
“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered, and as whoever it was controlling the lights turned them down (impossible, they would have thought if they weren’t concentrated on something more interesting, since its mechanism was a bare bulb and a string), his mouth closed over the flower of Spencer’s.  
The room went completely dark as they came together into the same space.


	4. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer and Stiles are drugged again and wake to a new discovery.

Spencer had no idea how they’d fallen asleep. He didn’t remember it, at least, when he was the first to wake up of them both.   
  
Another more pleasant memory hadn't faded, fortunately. One moment, everything had revolved around the picture, and the next Stiles had pressed his velvet lips to his, initially caressing his mouth more than kissing it. Spencer was grateful he remembered that- how Stiles’ hot mouth had moved over his, devouring his softness. How his eager fingers had raked into his silky hair and pulled him near…  
God, it felt good to be touched, Spencer had thought. He wasn’t one for physical affection, but Jesus he was human, too, wasn’t he? And it’d been at least a day that Stiles’ scent had been plaguing him and the ardor of his body pressed into his at night, sharing that one blanket and pillow… wondering what it would be like…   
  
How his being had throbbed with a passionate message! It gave Spencer courage and he allowed his tongue to trace the seam of Stiles’ lips before finally their tongues were stabbing and fighting and they claimed each other in savage conquest.   
“Stiles,” Spencer had moaned, hand fisted into his t-shirt as their mouths meshed in demanding mastery. Then, like the lights that had gone out, the rest was extinguished memory.   
  
The bulb was back on now, brighter than ever. Somehow they had found themselves on the bed from their initial position at its foot. Spencer assumed correctly that it had something to do with the sedative they’d been given when all this had begun. His head felt the same kind of fuzzy, and he was just as tired as he had been three days ago.

If it had been three days. Was this only the fourth? How long were they out?! The sudden pang of hunger made him wonder. Something smelled delicious in the room.

“Stiles,” Spencer muttered, placing his hand against the other’s shoulder and gently shaking him through. He was still having trouble lifting his head. “Stiles, wake up.”

Stiles was behind him, spooning him, his body trapping Spencer’s against the wall. Spencer bent his torso, back arched against him… his spine suddenly tingling at the feel of what could only be Stiles’ large manhood hardened in a morning erection.   
A deep crimson flooded his cheeks, making his own sex stir.

“Hm?” the other man mumbled, still sleepy. “What? Dad, just five more minutes, please…"

“I’m not your dad,” Spencer said through a smirk. “Stiles, it’s me, Spencer. We’re still in the basement.”   
He would have laughed, had it not been they had more important matters on their hands. “Stiles, someone’s been here, and left something.”

_

It didn’t take Stiles much longer to realise where he was… and what his last memory was. His eyes remained closed for only another moment, and then he propped himself up shakily to see what Spencer was talking about. For the moment they wouldn’t talk about the kiss, it would seem. That amazing, beautiful kiss they shared…  
  
Part of him, especially in this sleepy and confused state, seemed to be somewhat horrified to be in this bed with Spencer _with a hard on_ that was so prominent there was no way Reid couldn’t have felt it or noticed it now. He pressed his legs together and elbowed his crotch... was about to apologize when the attention turned to what had been left.

On the other side of the room stood a tray. Two eggs, bacon, toast. Two glasses of orange juice, and… a stack of letters. Next to them, two piles of clean clothes.

“I think they got you next,” Spencer stated, overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. Should he reach out? Comfort Stiles, who looked now like he’d seen a ghost?   
What exactly did last night (or whenever the kiss was) mean? was a secondary but pressing thought in his mind.   
“Do you recognise these letters, Stiles?” Spencer asked to distract himself. 

Stiles was quiet, said nothing, putting the issue of their intimacy to the background for a moment. His face betrayed recognition. Spencer frowned, let his hand drop on Stiles’ shoulder just to encourage him.   
“Take your time,” Spencer said, “But don’t take too long, because the… the longer you take, the worse it is going to feel. Trust me." 

Stiles groaned, then shrugged, until he finally lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He buried his face into his hands, rubbing at the exhaustion aggressively as he continued to groan.  
“I should’ve gotten rid of them,” Stiles then said, “so stupid to have kept them when they could be used against me like this.”   
A shadow dimmed Spencer’s eyes. “Anything and everything will be used against you,” he declared. “It’d be silly, wouldn’t it, to never hold on to anything just because it might get used against you one day?”

A snicker escaped Stiles’ lips, but there wasn’t much humor to be found in _him_ either this morning. “I guess you’re right, but at least I wouldn’t have found myself here needing to talk about something so stupid and so… so fucking embarrassing.”

“Hey,” Spencer complained, “I had to go through it yesterday. Or whenever that was. I don’t know how long we’ve been out. But I’m here. Same offer. I’m listening, Stiles. _You can tell me anything_.”

“Thanks,” Stiles sighed, after which he rose. “Give me a moment to get through them?”

Spencer nodded again and pursed his lips. “Take your time.”

Breathing expletives in response, Spencer did nothing to stop the other from leaving the room. Frowning deeply, instead he watched as Stiles grabbed a hold of his letters and took them to the tiny, barely tolerable bathroom they had been provided with.

—-

Stiles hadn’t expected to see these letters so soon. At the time of writing them, it had even felt like a series of thoughts and feelings that should never have been put down into words in the first place. However, at the time, it was about the only thing he could do to recollect some sense of himself. He had honestly thought he was losing his mind. 

He sat on the toilet. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but the only way he could be removed from Spencer for the time it took to read them once more. As he tapped his foot nervously against the tiles, he listened to Spencer rummaging around the room. Small, clicking noises showed that Spencer was working on tearing apart the jigsaw, but Stiles didn’t understand why. Perhaps because he couldn’t bear to look at that image again, and it would be understandable if that were the case. Just like Stiles, he then realised, because Stiles couldn’t bear to look at these letters either. He really shouldn’t have kept them, so why the fuck had he? He had never read them back, and he had never intended to once he hid them.   
_How on earth did they find the stash when he hadn’t told a soul where they were?!_

He took one envelope out of his stack and folded it open.

 _‘I don’t know what to do. I think I'm going crazy.’_   
He read it, but the very first sentence was already enough for him to fold the letter shut again. _‘I don’t know what to do.’  
_ Yeah, and he _really_ hadn’t known how to react now either. His stomach churned and tears blurred his view.

A groan escaped from his throat again, and his heart thrummed in his ears. He could feel his hands clenching to fists, after which he let go of the letters all together just to avoid wrinkling them. He didn’t want that, even though he knew that his life would probably be a lot easier without having to gaze upon them. After a few moments of tensing and releasing his fists, he got up again. He hadn’t made any sort of decision on this, or on how to address the content, but he knew that he couldn’t keep sitting where he was. Instead, he just took an entirely different route. It probably wasn’t a route that would be recommended in situations such as these, but it was — for the moment — all he could do to keep himself sane.

When he got back to the bedroom-slash-living room-slash kitchen…slash fucking everything else, he saw Spencer sitting cross-legged on the floor. He looked so pretty in that light, the reflection highlighting his locks.  
  
Reid leaned against the bed, and the tray of food sat before him. He hadn’t eaten yet, probably waiting for Stiles to return. He had changed into his set of fresh clothes, though.   
The furrow in his brow spoke to deep concern, it was obvious he’d been staring into the distance until he’d heard the door open. Then his head shot to face Stiles. The smile painted there was mildly encouraging.

“You didn’t read them,” Spencer noted, nodding toward the papers Stiles had dropped to the floor. He could probably see that the vast majority of them had not been opened. “Did you decide on what to do with them?”

Instead of answering him, Stiles moved to sit down on the floor right next to him. The tray of food sat there like an invitation, and he looked down on it almost as if it were an alien object. The smell of bacon made his tummy rumble.  
“Spencer?” The appellation held promise.

Spencer stared back at him, and for just a second hoped that what he saw swimming in Stiles’ redwood gaze was intent as before.  
“What Stiles?” he replied, words barely scraping whisper.

“I really want to kiss you again.”  
It was a fact, not a request. The mood he was trying to create was all misplaced, but he didn’t care one bit. He needed to feel Spencer close to him again. Stiles just wanted to forget, for a moment, that these letters were here, and that he was locked in, with nowhere to go but down a memory lane full of horrors.

“Then kiss me, Stiles,” Spencer breathed, other words he was not yet ready to utter lodged in his gullet. “ _Kiss me_.”


	5. Distractions...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles REALLY does not want to talk about the letters... so he distracts Spencer.

Spencer was soft.   
Not in the sense of weak. But as Stiles kissed over his chiseled jaw, being almost mockingly coy about how lightly he let his lips press there… and Reid let out a whimper barely audible if not to the man crushed to him…   
Jesus, all Stiles could think about was how fucking SOFT Spencer was. The silky feel of his waves as Stiles carded his long fingers through them… the velvety touch of Spencer’s flesh on his… Spencer reciting his name in a voice as pleasant to the ear as a kitten would be tested against one’s cheek in a nuzzle.   
Was this really the guy he thought annoyed him almost to the point of hatred just mere days ago?!  
  
Spencer fared no better in inward gaze. He couldn’t believe how quickly this momentary and unexpected second “distraction” escalated emotions in him he long thought buried. He dared rub a palm over Stiles’ racing heart before allowing his free hand to run a trembling digit along the hem of Stiles’ shirt…   
Stiles stirred against him then. Was that warmth on the small of his back REALLY Spencer’s splayed fingers? He removed his lips from Reid’s and lightly passed his hand over the curve of his Cupid’s upper lip.   
“Spence…”   
Reid already hungered from the memory of his mouth on his, and hearing a pet name escape it, even if one that shortened his appellation by only one letter…   
“Can I call you Spence? I know really only JJ does but…”   
  
Reid would swear if asked that he’d taken leave of his senses as well…in the most blissful way possible. He nodded almost imperceptibly and gave a smile of consent. The look on Stiles’ beautiful face overrode inhibitions and in one lazy, sensuous movement Spencer inched forward and his tongue swept inside to caress the walls of Stiles’ mouth once more.   
  
Suddenly their limbs felt heavy, deep breathing making their chests rise and fall. Stiles inhaled Spencer’s essence and holy god…not even the bath gel they were afforded for personal hygiene could stifle his partner’s? lover’s? _What were they?!_   
Stiles’ mind was reeling and it took a minute for him to come to his senses.   
Oh yes. He was thinking how even that gel couldn’t dominate Reid’s earthy smell…like a freshly cut sliver of incense plant put to nose under a winter’s storm. Fresh, but with an edge that made you want to press your nose to it and discover all its nuances.   
  
They had no idea how long they continued this sweet exploration. All Spencer was focused on was Stiles helplessly writhing beneath him, their bodies grinding into each other, the loveliness and nearness of it all making their skins prickle.  
Panting, Spencer pulled off when it was clear that the moment would end in one of two ways: either them divest of clothing, making love right there… or by the looks of their arousals and the throbbing between his own thighs, one or both of them coming in their pants like teenagers.   
  
Stiles felt that same passion pounding the blood through him… from his brain down to his cock, making him lightheaded. He grunted in disappointment at the absence of touch but nodded in understanding… he sat up with his elbows spread for balance and wasn’t ashamed at all at the tenting in his bottoms. Spencer was very much in the same (and impressive!) condition.   
“Yeah, maybe we should cool it a second..” his voice trailed off, though the smirk on Stiles’ face grew only wider.   
Reid, a dusky blush to his cheeks making him look even more desirable, moved lightly in offering a hand, and Stiles lifted himself upright into a position with his back to the bedframe.   
“We should probably eat something, Stiles…it’s cold now, but some proteins and fresh juice will do us good after all that processed food.”   
“Yeah, sounds good.”   
Lifting the one fork they were given from the tray, Stiles watched as Spencer cut up the eggs and divided up the portions of the rest equally between them.   
_  
  
To say that something about Stiles was off would be an understatement. It was clear as day that he didn’t want to talk about the letters, and that — instead — he was doing pretty much everything (including teasing Spencer to near orgasm) to distract his mind from what was going on.   
He knew just as well as Spencer that these letters were here to be talked about, just like yesterday’s puzzle had been. Maybe, Spencer thought, the letters had to do with something that the other had never talked about before _with anyone_ , making it that much harder.   
Spencer wasn’t much of a secretive person. He might not have been the most forthcoming with personal and private details, but he rarely lied about or deflected questions he was asked — no matter how hard it was to answer them.  
He was getting to know Stiles _the man_ only now… and he realized Stiles was different. He _did_ seem like an emotional person, or rather one in tune and not afraid of feeling them. He was probably one who got in his own feelings more frequently than most.   
Spencer knew that these character types, the types that wore their sentiments on their sleeves, were often too tormented to get into deep, serious conversations about their demons.

So, Spencer just studied him for a while, (which was not an unpleasant thing to gaze upon). He observed the smile Stiles was determined to keep on his face… those dimples not going unnoticed and that Spencer’s sudden heated cheeks at _really_ seeing them for the first time provoked an eyebrow raise and breath hitch in the man before him.

“You know we’re going to have to talk about your letters eventually, right?” Spencer asked him after what seemed like an appropriate time of silence between them.   
Stiles’s umber eyes shot up into Spencer’s for a second, before they fell back onto what little remained of his breakfast.   
He swallowed hard, the last piece of toast like gravel in his throat, and Spencer knew that meant he was determined to keep dancing around the facts for as long as he possibly could.   
“I wish there was something I could do to make this easier, Stiles. _Is there_ anything I can do?”

Oh Spencer, Stiles thought. Those concerned orbs looking up at him fromunder a fringe of long lashes… that honey warmth to the tone of his voice.   
“No Spence,” Stiles shook his head, aware this was the first time he was using something a little more intimate between them. It didn’t feel inappropriate. After all hadn’t they just been enfolded in each other in a passionate tango minutes ago?   
Perhaps not acknowledging it would have been worse and might have raised unnecessary questions that didn’t even need to be asked.   
“The only thing I’m afraid of is that they _want_ us to talk about these things. We won’t move on, or won’t get out of here, unless we follow the rules. I know it’s going to be difficult to discuss, so I won’t insist. But when you’re ready, Stiles, I’m here.”   
  
Stiles moved his shoulders in resignation and closed his hand over Reid’s. He knew defeat when he saw it… it was useless for him to continue to put this off, and he certainly didn’t want to be the reason for them being in there any longer than they needed to be.   
“Okay, Spence. Okay. You’re right. I’ll…” he stuttered, “I’ll tell you about the letters.”  
  
Spencer pursed his lips, knowing well where the defiance was coming from- pain. But he knew Stiles was trusting in Spencer to be supportive, and that is exactly what he was going to be.   
“Sorry,” Spencer uttered into the silence that ensued. He had learnt that sometimes, no matter his intentions, sorry really _was_ the only right thing to say.   
“I just want you to realise that I would never push you to do this out of some personal morbid curiosity. Their intention is for us to discuss the things they’ve pulled out of the air- to engage us in this _thing_ together. As we discussed before, they want us to get closer. I shared my story, and now we have to move onto the next. To...” He pointed towards the letters, “...to your story.”

Stiles clenched his fork in his grip and swallowed. Spencer could practically feel the lump in Stiles’s throat, and the way his heart rate had increased, racing against his fingertips. Spencer felt bad for him, but he knew there was very little he could change about this predicament. Just like Spencer hadn’t been able to avoid the jigsaw, Stiles would not be able to avoid the letters.  
“Okay,” Stiles squeezed his hand, an exhale deflating his chest. “I think I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you're enjoying it. Slow and steady I'm trying to catch up on other fics as well.. it's been a very difficult month so bear with me.   
> Hope you're all staying safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Some tags and characters, as well as the rating, are for future chapters.  
> Info from wikis and the national database for criminal stats. The lyrics of the song at the beginning are from Michelle Branch's song "Fault Line." 
> 
> This has been a pairing I've wanted to write for a while and a trope I adore. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for reading and giving it a chance!


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